


untitled

by tigriswolf



Series: unfinisheds [15]
Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Inception (2010)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Families of Choice, Gen, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), M/M, Magic, Magical Pets, Protectiveness, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, a long time ago I started a fic where Arthur&Eames raised Harry Potter.  I've come to the conclusion that I'll never finish the story because it's entirely too epic and starting to feel a bit forced.  </p><p>Here's what I have of it, along with notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the original beginning. Thanks to **pprfaith** for pointing out some major problems!

Isobel and Morag were the first in their compartment. They sat in silence, their beloved Silverclaws, Gwaihir, a breathing silver cushion on Morag’s lap. Father had told them about the Houses, of course, and Mum said not to worry. They were witches – magical. Surely which House didn’t matter. Father nodded, but it was obvious he wanted them in his House, Ravenclaw, House of the studious, of the wise. Mum had been a Hufflepuff and promised that, wherever they went, things would turn out just as they should. 

Mum, though, was an optimist. Isobel was a pragmatist, and Morag a pessimist. Father was just Father.

Gwaihir moved to Isobel’s side just as the door opened and a boy poked his head in. 

“Hey!” he said. “I’m Eddie. D’ya mind if I sit in here?” He sounded American - New York, Isobel thought. Like Mum’s television shows. 

Morag shook her head and Isobel said, “That’s fine. Are you American, then?”

Eddie smiled, flinging himself into the seat across from them. “My da is,” he replied. “But my dad’s English, though he won’t tell me where from.” He shrugged. “Da always swats him when he refuses. I think he’s from London, though.”

Isobel chuckled, pulling Gwaihir into her arms.

“I’m Morag MacDougal,” Morag finally introduced them. “And she’s Isobel.” 

“And who is that gorgeous boy?” Eddie asked, leaning over to get a better look at Gwaihir. 

Gwaihir preened, of course. Morag laughed and Isobel held their cat up. He was pliant in her grip, boneless like usual. Anyone would be forgiven for thinking him a normal cat. “Gwaihir,” she said. 

“Hello, pretty,” Eddie cooed, but he didn’t reach out to touch the cat. “My dad said Silverclaws were extinct,” he murmured.

Isobel clutched Gwaihir close as Morag sat up straight. “They are,” both said together.

Eddie smiled. “Understood.” He paused, eyes going from each sister to Gwaihir, before down to his hands and then the door. “Secret for secret?” he offered, and whispered something. It didn’t sound English, and both twins gasped as a tiny snake slithered down his right hand. “Dad spelled him miniature,” Eddie said.

“That’s an Amazon Firetongue,” Morag breathed. Isobel nodded, captivated by the serpent as it changed color, vibrant green to an almost blood-red.

“Her name’s Chakra,” Eddie said, and the snake vanished up his sleeve as the door opened again. 

“Has anyone seen a toad?” a bushy-haired girl asked. She waited long enough for Eddie’s negative and left.

Isobel and Morag exchanged a long look before Morag said, “You shouldn’t let anyone know you’re a parselmouth. It won’t… they’ll think you’re Dark from the start.”

Eddie laughed. “Dad already explained that. But I can be whatever I want. This year’s just to see, anyway.” 

“Just to see what?” Isobel asked, letting go of Gwaihir as he jumped from her lap. 

Eddie smiled at the cat, who oozed up onto the seat next to him and sniffed at his sleeve. 

“If I want to stay at Hogwarts. I probably won’t, but you never know.” He shrugged again, rubbing at Gwaihir’s ear. “It’ll give Da and Dad time to clean up some unfinished business if I’m hidden away for awhile, but it’ll be my choice at the end. Dad’s already taught me a lot, anyway.”

Morag and Isobel shared another look. This boy was fascinating. Gwaihir climbed up his shoulder, purring, silver claws flashing. Eddie, who _knew_ what Gwaihir was, laughed.

Even Father flinched away from Gwaihir, had ever since Mum brought him home as a kitten. She was muggleborn – she didn’t know. But Father knew, and if they hadn’t already claimed the Silverclaws as their familiar, the strongest show of accidental magic in their lives… but Gwaihir was theirs, and they were his, and this boy was laughing while Gwaihir kneaded those silver claws in his trousers. 

“I might go to Salem next year,” Eddie said, running his hand from the back of Gwaihir’s head to the tip of his tail. “Or continue training with Dad. Da also looked into tutors for me.” 

Eddie glanced up from Gwaihir and said, “So, I did some research, of course, but I want to know what the two of you think. Which House should I go to?”

Morag said, “Father believes Ravenclaw is the best.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “And what do _you_ think?” he asked, lightly bopping Gwaihir between the ears.

Gwaihir didn’t react at all; Isobel wanted to gape. Instead she said, “I’m not sure. Gryffindor is considered brave, Slytherin evil, Ravenclaw wise, and Hufflepuff left over. But Mum was a Hufflepuff, and she says it’s the nicest House.”

“Hmm.” Eddie trailed a finger down Gwaihir’s spine and hissed something. 

Chakra, around Eddie’s neck, now, Isobel saw, hissed back. Isobel thought she almost understood – she glanced at Morag and her sister nodded.

“Slytherins are snakes,” Eddie mused, pulling his hand back as Gwaihir stood and leapt from his lap to Morag. “And if Dad’d ever gone to Hogwarts, he’d have probably been one. So I’ll go there.” 

Isobel didn’t even bother trying to explain that students didn’t choose their Houses. She figured it wouldn’t matter to Eddie, anyway.

…

The Sorting always seemed to linger. Severus had noticed it his first year and then the six that followed. It was even longer as a teacher. And the Hat’s song got worse every year.

Minerva led the little brats in and started calling names; by the end, Severus had eleven new serpents and Harry Potter was never called.

Interesting.

Severus glanced at Albus, who actively avoided his gaze. 

Very interesting indeed.

.

After the Sorting, the prefects led the first years to the dormitories. Severus took a quicker path and was waiting in the common room as the students entered. The older children spread out, leaving the first years in front of Severus, who waited for them to quiet while wearing his most forbidding expression. 

Once they were silent and staring at him, Severus said, “I am Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin House. Our rules are simple.” He paused, studying each of them in turn. “All disagreements are kept in the House. To the rest of Hogwarts, we are united in all things.” Another pause, and he nodded to Draco. He recognized all but one student, the boy between Draco and one of MacDougal’s daughters. “Honor Slytherin in all you do,” Severus finished. “And when you break Hogwarts’ rules, don’t get caught.” 

He nodded to the prefects. “First years, follow the prefects to your dorms. You will share with your yearmates until seventh year, when everyone gets a single to themselves.”

As the first years began moving to the doors, separating into boys and girls, Severus called, “The only rule you cannot break is unity. All the rest, I will understand, depending on the circumstances. But if we turn on ourselves, we will have no one.” He gave them a small smile, gesturing them on. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

At the doors, the unknown – Edmund Colmes – paused to touch MacDougal’s daughter, Isobel, on the shoulder. She nodded, giving him a quick kiss to the cheek, and they both went into their tunnels. 

Severus said goodnight to the rest of his serpents and then headed for the Headmaster’s office, to demand the location of Lily’s son.

…

Draco was at Hogwarts, finally, away from home for the first time. While exhilarated, he was also nervous, so he pulled on his strongest mask and began lording himself over the rest of his yearmates, children he’d known for years – all but a few. He didn’t know two of the girls, Isobel MacDougal and Tracey Davis, or Edmund Colmes. MacDougal and Davis were with Pansy, and she’d know all their secrets soon enough, and he knew of MacDougal’s father and Davis’ mother. But Colmes was a complete unknown.

Draco watched Colmes flop onto the bed furthest from the door and stretch out with a wide yawn, saying, “Wow, it’s been a long day.”

He sounded American. Draco frowned. 

“I don’t recognize your surname,” Zabini said, also looking at Colmes while Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle chose other beds. 

Colmes grinned. “No reason why you would.” He bounced up and stripped off his robe, revealing muggle trousers and shirt. He pulled a slim box out of the pocket, pressed the top, and held it to his ear.

Nott focused on him, and watched with Draco and Zabini in shock while Colmes carried on a conversation with the box like it was a magic mirror.

“Hey, Da,” Colmes said, lying back on the bed. “Yeah, it’s almost time to sleep. I’m in Slytherin, House of Serpents – I’m sure Dad’ll be thrilled.” He laughed. “It seems interesting so far, and there’s a wicked illusion on the ceiling. Have Dad show it to you – I’m sure he knows about it,” Colmes continued. “Yeah, Chakra’s fine. She made a friend earlier, and I think I have two of my own.” Another laugh. “Tell Dad they’re _twins_.” 

Draco looked at Nott; Nott used to have an unbecoming fascination with muggle devices. “It’s a mobile phone,” Nott said quietly. “But they’re not meant to work at Hogwarts. No muggle technology works here.”

Colmes said, “Night, Da. You, too. Talk to you tomorrow.” He pushed another button and let the box – _mobile_ fall onto the bed. He stretched again and rolled off the bed, kneeling by the trunk. “Trans-Atlantic travel is always exhausting, wouldn’t you say?” he commented to the room in general, rummaging around in his trunk. He pulled out nightclothes, stripped, and redressed before throwing himself back on the bed.

“Night, guys,” he called. Draco glanced at Nott and Zabini, who both shrugged, seemingly as confused as he was. He resolved to write Father in the morning and went to kick Goyle out of the bed he wanted.

…

Harry Potter was not at Hogwarts. Albus gazed sorrowfully at Fawkes; when all his magicks had failed he’d at last turned to his old friend and begged a boon. But not even Fawkes could find the boy. 

None of them had realized that anything was amiss until Harry Potter never owled a reply to his Hogwarts letter. When Minerva, as always in charge of the first years, brought it to Albus’ attention he sent Hagrid to fetch The Boy Who Lived.

But Harry Potter was not at the Dursley’s – in fact, even the Dursleys were not there.

When Hagrid returned bewildered, Albus realized something had gone irrevocably wrong.

A quick search revealed that Vernon Dursley went missing four years earlier, and there was no evidence – anywhere – that Dursley or his wife ever had custody of a child not their son. There was evidence of horrific things, but nothing at all on Harry Potter.

Petunia, Albus learned, had moved to the middle of nowhere with her son after Vernon vanished. She had the strongest, most delicate memory charm on her mind that even Albus had ever seen.

She had no knowledge of Harry Potter.

All the detectors in Albus’ office showed that Harry was alive, but none could locate him. Fawkes, more powerful than even Albus truly understood, returned just as bewildered as Hagrid from every search. And now what should have been Harry Potter’s first year started without him. Albus heaved a great sigh as Fawkes hummed his most soothing song. 

“Of course, old friend,” he murmured. “We’ll have to focus on the spare, then.” He sighed again and closed his eyes, listening to Fawkes. 

.

In the absence of anything useful to do, Minerva had focused on the incoming first years. She had students to care for – she left the search to Albus.

The muggleborns were escorted to Diagon Alley and then the platform, so that they’d be able to find it again. Minerva finalized lesson plans and packets for the muggleborns on everything necessary to traverse the magical world. All the while, she wondered about Harry Potter.

She had told Albus not to leave the child with those people, and now she wondered how four years could have passed – at least – since Harry vanished. She kept a tight tether on her anger, but she knew Albus knew just how furious she truly was. She’d warned the man about those muggles.

Except… Minerva’s quill stilled. Dursley disappeared four years ago, and Lily’s sister moved away with her own child. But how could any of them be sure that was when Harry vanished, as well? What if something had happened before that? The things that had been found after Dursley’s disappearance – oh, but if Minerva had that muggle in front of her, she could not honestly say she wouldn’t Crucio him. 

Albus swore the wards had been erected when Petunia took Harry in, and the wards had not fallen, even after Petunia moved. But how trustworthy was Albus, after such a terrible mistake?

Someone else’s magic – untraceable, and strong – was at work, hiding Harry’s true fate.

But that was for Albus to deal with. Minerva needed to deal with the students. For now, she could do nothing else. And when she could… when she could, she would. 

She picked up her quill and returned to her list of first years. Their schedules were due by breakfast, and she’d lost weeks to the search. As she skipped over writing a schedule for Harry Potter, she wiped away a tear.

…

In the morning, Eddie bounced out of bed. Chakra had spent the night exploring and she curled up in the middle of his sheets while Eddie took a quick shower. After he dressed in his favorite t-shirt and a clean pair of jeans, pulling one of the silly uniform robes over his head, Chakra slithered up his arm to curl around his neck. 

Eddie grabbed his booksack, waving all of his school books into it, and headed for the Great Hall, where they were supposed to take all their meals. It was just barely 7am, so there were only a few other kids sprinkled throughout the hall and one teacher at the front table. Morag and Isobel were at the Ravenclaw table, so Eddie went to it. 

“Hey,” he said, sitting across from them. “What’s shakin’?” 

“Good morning,” Isobel said. “We were just comparing our dormmates.” 

Eddie grinned. “The two of you know what a cellphone is, right?” 

Morag nodded. “Grandmum has one. We’re not allowed to touch it, though, because our magic makes it short out.” 

“I used mine last night,” Eddie said. “In my dorm, to call home.” 

He relished their gobsmacked expressions. This was going to be a wonderful term.

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some backstory. See if you can guess who Eames is.

Never before in his life had Arthur felt so right about killing someone. 

He only wished, watching the corpulent man keel over into his own brain matter, that he could have made the death last an agonizing while longer. 

But the man wasn’t important. 

“Hi, hey, can you look at me?” he asked softly, crouching down. The boy was tiny, huddled on the cold concrete, and his eyes went from Arthur to the body. “You don’t have to be scared of me,” he continued, holstering his gun to get it out of the kid’s sight. 

None of his research into Grunnings Drills had shown this. He’d known something was wrong, he and Eames wouldn’t have been hired otherwise, but he’d figured bribery or skimming off the top, not – 

“Hey,” he said again. “I’m Arthur.” 

There was the sound of running feet, coming swiftly closer; Arthur didn’t let any of his anger or frustration show on his face or in his tone as he tried to keep the boy calm. He’d reacted on instinct, without thinking – the gunshot couldn’t have gone unnoticed.

The boy moved slowly toward him. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he murmured. The boy’s bare feet were bloody. His mouth was bruised. 

Arthur held his hand out, palm open, and the boy didn’t look at him as he, trembling, let Arthur help him up. 

“I’m calling for help,” he said, touching the tip of his left thumb to the base of his left ring finger, where the tattoo of a wedding ring would forever rest. 

_Always have an escape route,_ Eames had told him, the first time they ever met. Eames was currently on the other side of the world in Manila, running down leads. Arthur was supposed to be doing research, setting everything up, not gunning down strangers in the basement of a building he shouldn’t have been in. 

But Eames didn’t hesitate and the permanent teleportation ( _portkey_ , Eames called it) activated, latching on to Arthur and anything else he willed it to. “Hold on,” he told the boy, tightening his grip. 

The boy looked up, meeting Arthur’s gaze, as shouting men turned the corner. 

On the other side, Eames was waiting. He glanced from the boy – now clinging to Arthur – to Arthur and then asked quietly, “What happened?” 

Arthur smiled tightly, keeping his anger in a chokehold, and said, “I need you to clean up a mess. Grunnings Drills’ director just had a fatal accident. He needs to disappear. There’s an entire – ”

The boy whimpered, his face buried in Arthur’s stomach. Arthur gently threaded his finger through the boy’s dirty hair and closed his eyes when he found dried blood. Vernon Dursley died far too easily. 

“I’m taking him to the hospital,” Arthur told Eames. “And then – ”

“Don’t send me back,” the boy mumbled into Arthur’s shirt.

Arthur met Eames’ gaze. He didn’t push the boy away, but he did tap the boy’s shoulder, so the boy knew who the question was directed to, when he asked, “What’s your name?” 

The boy was trembling when he answered, “Don’t got one.” 

Eames’ face smoothed out into what Arthur once called his _ass-kicking expression_. For the first six months of their acquaintance, it was the only expression he wore, probably because Arthur kept killing him every time he popped up and he failed to even the tally.

“While we’re at the hospital,” Arthur asked carefully, “do you mind if I call you Edmund?” 

The boy didn’t answer for a long moment and Arthur was content to give him as long as he needed. He glanced down at the boy’s head then back at Eames and raised an eyebrow. Eames nodded after a few seconds of gazing at the boy. Nothing life-threatening, then, but Eames’ healing capabilities were far too expansive to trust with small things. 

Eames could heal a shattered ribcage and deflated lung, but not a paper cut.

“Why Edmund?” the boy whispered. 

Arthur said, “He’s my favorite character from the very first book I read entirely by myself.” 

“I like Edmund,” the boy told Arthur’s stomach. 

Eames said, “Then Edmund you are.”

. 

While Arthur stayed with the boy at Manila’s best hospital, Eames returned to that horrible basement. All sorts of security types scurried about, and the authorities summoned.

Eames hated the place immediately. There were all sorts of nasty secrets lurking about, and he was going to drag them all shrieking into the searing light of day.

But first, he had to make sure Arthur’s little Edmund was not even a memory in the walls. 

It was quite simple. Dursley’s spirit was trying to raise a fuss as the emergency services strained to move his ample corpse, but only Eames had the eyes to see him. Eames dove right into his terrible little mind and gleaned everything of import. 

The boy’s name was Harry Potter. He was seven years old. He was Dursley’s nephew, entrusted to the man’s tender care by someone who then never deigned to check up on the boy, and Eames nearly smote the dratted sod right there – 

Instead, he turned to making sure everything the man ever touched burnt to ash. He also promised, “You’ll stay right here, Dursley, until all the magick in Britain runs dry. You’ll never move on; you’ll never be seen or heard by anyone from this day forward. You’ll never touch anything again. You’ll linger, and you’ll suffer, and no one will ever find you, or know what happened.” 

With but a thought, he ensured that not a single soul would ever know who the fat man found dead in the lowest level of Grunnings Drills had been in life. The unknown corpse would never be connected to Vernon Dursley of Number 4 Privet Drive. 

Vernon Dursley vanished on the way to work on a brilliant summer day. He wasn’t much missed.

To be quite honest, everyone figured he ran because he realized all his secrets were about to be revealed. 

And no one, including his wife, knew his nephew disappeared the same day because no one, including his wife, remembered the boy had ever lived at Number 4 Privet Drive. 

After a few days work in dismantling a pedophile ring, leaving ample evidence for authorities to dispose of those guilty, Eames returned to his husband and the boy Arthur had barely let out of his sight.

.

Edmund clung to Arthur’s hand through most of the examination. When the doctor (and the security officers the nurse thought she’d called discretely) demanded Arthur’s ID and relation to the patient, Arthur introduced himself as Ethan Colmes, a United States FBI agent. The boy was Edmund Quail (a pseudonym, of course, he covertly informed the doctor, because he was a witness that had just been reclaimed from individuals who meant him great harm) and everything must be done quietly, Arthur firmly informed everyone who approached the boy in his custody. 

Through it all, Edmund never met anyone’s eyes. And he whined, a sound that cut straight to Arthur’s heart, anytime Arthur had to unlatch himself from the boy’s entirely-too-strong grip.

The sun had set by the time Arthur carried Edmund from the hospital. He went to the Manila safe-house, murmured, “The boy I carry is welcome” so that Eames’ wards didn’t attack Edmund, and headed straight for the bathroom. 

“Let’s get you clean,” he said gently. Edmund blinked up at him but nodded, and docilely let Arthur do whatever he liked. 

By the time the bath was done, Edmund was mostly asleep in Arthur’s grip. He tucked the boy into his and Eames’ own bed, sat in the chair by the window, and stayed on guard until late evening, when he finally fell asleep himself. 

.

When Edmund woke up, Arthur was nowhere to be seen. But as soon as Edmund moved to the edge of the bed, Arthur appeared in the doorway. “Good morning,” he said quietly. “You slept all day and through the night. Are you hungry?” 

Edmund nodded, fidgeting with the blanket. 

Arthur asked, “Would you like to eat here or in the kitchen?” 

Edmund shrugged. He had no idea which was the right answer, what Arthur wanted to hear. He had no idea why Arthur – he had no idea why he was here now, why Arthur took him to that place with everyone who looked at him, who asked him so many questions, even though he never answered, no, he didn’t, he didn’t say _a thing_. He was a good boy. 

He was Edmund, now. He was Arthur’s good boy. 

“You’re safe, Edmund,” Arthur said. 

Edmund nodded, but he still wouldn’t meet Arthur’s eyes. 

.

Throughout the day, Edmund shadowed him. Arthur spoke quietly, inane observations, unanswered queries, and the like. Edmund only ever nodded. 

Edmund ate because Arthur suggested he should. Edmund brushed his teeth and combed his hair, bathed and dressed because Arthur suggested he should. 

Arthur was not a fool. He considered and discarded the idea of having Eames resurrect that disgusting piece of shit just so Arthur could really take his time exacting the appropriate amount of vengeance. 

He tucked Edmund into the master bed again. “Goodnight,” he said. He was pretty sure this was where a parent would kiss the child’s cheek or forehead, but Edmund would probably misread it, so instead he gently patted the boy’s shoulder and walked out of the room.

In the study, he glanced down at the file he’d stolen from the hospital. They still had the electronic version, which he’d erase later tonight, but for his and Eames’ own records, they would be keeping this one. 

Resurrecting Dursley was a bad idea, Arthur knew. But he traced his finger along a photograph of that oddly shaped scar on Edmund’s forehead, and really wished he could ask Eames, anyway. 

.

Edmund watched Arthur leave and wondered what he’d done wrong. Nothing made sense. Arthur killed – Arthur took him from that place. He was Arthur’s now.

He had a name. He had a new life. 

Edmund was who he had to be now, and so Edmund he was. No one else.

.

The morning of Eames’ return, Edmund bounced out of bed and hurried to the kitchen, where he found Arthur frying eggs. Arthur gave him a searching glance, but Edmund just grinned at him. 

“Good morning, Edmund,” Arthur said steadily and Edmund threw his arms around Arthur’s middle, giving him the first hug of Edmund’s life. 

“Morning, Da,” Edmund said, pulling away with an even wider grin. 

Arthur gave a longer look but Edmund just kept grinning. 

“Knock knock,” a new voice said, knuckles rapping on the doorframe, and Edmund spun in place. He recognized the voice, if not the man, and knew that Arthur would never let someone dangerous near him. 

Arthur saved him – Arthur was his da, and das were good. They kept kids safe. 

“Eames,” Arthur said. “Have a seat. I’m about to serve breakfast.” 

“And what is it this morning?” Eames asked, slowly walking forward. 

“Bacon, toast, and fried eggs,” Arthur said. “How’d things go?” 

“Just swimmingly,” Eames replied, sitting in the chair closest to the door. “And how are you, Edmund? I must say, you look marvelous this morning.” 

Edmund carefully tiptoed to the table and, without looking away from Eames, climbed into the chair closest to Arthur. “I dreamt about flying,” he said. “I had big black wings and I breathed fire. But I wasn’t a dragon.” 

“No?” Eames asked. “What were you, then?” 

Edmund glanced over to Arthur, who smiled at him, and said, “I was me.”

.

After breakfast, Eames took an invigorating shower. He couldn’t wash the stench quite off him; he’d need Arthur’s help for that, and Arthur wouldn’t leave the boy while he was awake. 

He returned to living area to see Arthur and Edmund on the sofa, watching one of the Disney movies (the one with the singing animals). Edmund was enthralled and Arthur’s lips quirked in one of his prettier smiles. Eames settled on the floor next to Arthur’s legs and waited until Edmund had drifted off to ask, “What are you planning, o light of my life?” 

“I want to keep him, Eames,” Arthur said simply.

And when Arthur asked the boy, later that evening, if he wanted them to find him somewhere safe, somewhere with a proper family and a real life, Edmund lunged around the dining table, threw himself at Arthur, and cried, “Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me.”

And what could they do after that?

Of course they kept him. 

.

“Who was he, Eames?” Arthur asked while Edmund slumbered in his arms. 

“He was like me,” Eames said. “Magical to the core. He’s got quite a lot of potential in his little frame, and a madman after him for it. Dursley was his uncle, his mother’s brother-in-law. He was dropped on their doorstep like a newspaper with a succinct letter that said everything I just told you.” 

Arthur just stared at him. Eames spread his hands to show his helplessness. 

“Of course,” Eames added, “there is now no evidence anywhere in the muggle world to show Harry Potter ever existed.” Knowing what Arthur’s next question would be, he continued, “The rest of the children are safe, too. The entire ring has been destroyed, all those guilty laid bare for the world to see, and they will suffer for the rest of their days, no matter what the courts do.” 

“Good,” Arthur murmured, glancing down at the tousled dark hair, the slumped little boy resting against his chest. 

“If you really want to keep him, Arthur,” Eames said, “there’s a few things we need to do. But we have time, because we’ll need Edmund there’s permission to do it.”

.

In the morning, Da asked Edmund, “Are you sure?” 

Edmund had never been so sure of anything in his entire two days of life as he was when he said, “Yes, Da.” 

“Well, that settles it,” Eames – no, _Dad_ said. “He’s our son, darling.” 

Edmund laughed when Eames swept him up into strong arms and spun around. Da said, “I’ll get started on our identities, then.” 

.

Edmund Colmes had a history as thorough as any proper English lad. There were school records and doctors’ notes, childhood friends and a babysitter here and there who will swear up and down until the cows come home that Eddie was just the brightest little boy there ever was. 

Edmund Colmes existed in both the worlds, magical and not, and, because his fathers were the best at what they do, he always had. 

…

They settled down in Albany, New York. Arthur ensured that Edmund had the best tutors Albany could offer, and they got him quickly up to speed on where a child his age should be. Edmund’s favorite was math because it always made sense.

In the evenings, Eames would teach him one magic trick. Edmund knew he couldn’t do magic around his tutors, no matter how cool it would be to show off. But he did show Arthur, before going to bed every night, whatever Eames had taught him that day. Arthur was always suitably impressed.

They’d been in Albany for the better part of three months when Eames said, while Edmund worked on his spelling words, “I’ve found an intriguing snag in our boy’s history.” 

Arthur glanced up from his laptop. “Well?” 

“Do you know the Fidelius Charm?” Arthur shook his head, so Eames explained, “It’s where someone can hide something in a secret place, telling only one person the secret. Nobody can find the location, even if they already know it, unless the person with the secret willingly gives it up.” Eames tilted his head towards the living room, where Edmund sat by the window, spelling book in his lap. “Our boy’s birth parents had a secret keeper, and everyone knew who it was. What does that tell you?”

“That everyone was wrong,” Arthur said. 

Eames nodded. “And that man was thrown into the worst prison in magical Britain without a trial and there he has been since Voldemort fell.” 

Arthur looked back at his laptop. “What are you planning now, Eames?” 

Eames grinned. “Why, darling, I’m going on a quick trip to see a man about a boy. I’ll be back tonight.” 

.

"Hello, Mr. Black," a voice spoke from the darkness. The large, rail-thin dog lifted his head, eyes cloudy and dull as he looked around. "I'm here to talk about Harry Potter." The dog whimpered, trying not to remember - 

But the memories played, James and Remus and _the traitor_ , little Prongslet and a street full of muggles, the traitor vanishing into the sewer, theDementers, and - 

"That's enough, I think," the voice said, and a man stepped into the cell, kneeling beside the dog. "This world has done poorly by you," the man said, gently touching the dog's shoulder, the back of his head, running a few fingers along his spine. Warmth spread with every touch and the dog whined a little, trying to shift closer. "There's a good boy," the man crooned. "Would you like to come with me? I've a son who has been asking for a dog. It'll give you time to heal from this nasty place." 

The dog laid his head on the man's knee as an answer and the man smiled.

.

It was three days before anyone noticed the body in Sirius Black’s cell. By then, Eddie Colmes had a new dog, a black wolfhound he named Atlas, and the dog was utterly devoted to him. 

Sirius Black died in Azkaban and was tossed into the ocean to feed the fish, same as everyone else.

.

"Arthur," Eames said after Eddie had gone to bed, his new dog trumping up the stairs after him, "there's something we must talk about." 

.

Throughout the tale, Arthur's face had steadily been smoothed of all expression, his hands clenched into fists, his entire body coiled to spring. The room remained silent after Eames finished, as he settled back against the wall and watched his husband. 

"So, our son is a prophesied savior who defeated the horrific evil while still a toddler, and some wizard who had no claim on him left him like trash on the doorstep of the man who - " Arthur cut himself off, closing his eyes. "How strong is the adoption ritual, Eames?" he asked. "Is there anyone who can take him from us, after?" 

"No," Eames said softly. "There is no one on the planet who can undo anything I do, darling. That boy will be ours as long as he wants to be." He went to his husband, sank next to him on the couch. "I still don't know everything that happened; Black only knew what pertained to the Potters. He knows the prophecy, which is rubbish, anyway. Prophecies only have the weight their hearers give them, but unfortunately for Eddie, Dumbledore and Voldemort both believe it." 

"Do you?" Arthur murmured. 

Eames shook his head. "Once, long ago, I believed a prophecy. Everything I did to avoid it only ensured it came true." He smiled ruefully. "With age comes wisdom, so they say. Prophecies are best left alone, ignored if at all possible." 

Arthur nodded. "What do we tell him?" 

Eames drummed his fingers on the armrest, considering. "He doesn't remember any of it. Most of it, he never knew, anyway; he was merely three months past his first birthday when the Dark Lord tore his world apart." Arthur chuckled at the emphasis placed on _Dark Lord_ \- all that been missing were finger quotes. "If he ever asks, we'll tell him the truth. But he's not even eight yet, my dear. We have time."

Arthur nodded, slumping over to rest on Eames. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured. “We’ll ask him about the adoption tomorrow.” 

.

“Edmund, love,” Eames said over breakfast, “how do you feel about becoming our son in every way possible it is to be someone’s son?” 

Arthur sighed while Edmund’s eyes widened, his fork falling out of his grasp onto his plate. He nodded frantically, mouth opening with words he apparently couldn’t say. 

“You have to mean it,” Eames continued, gently, “with everything in you. The magic will know if any part of you doesn’t want it, and it will reject you in turn.” 

Edmund looked at Arthur. “Yes,” Arthur told him. “Ever since I first saw you, I’ve loved you, Edmund. I will protect and defend you; I will do anything necessary to keep you safe, no matter what else I sacrifice for that end. You are my son, whether or not magic thinks so.” 

“Yes,” Edmund said quietly, looking back at Eames. “I am your son.”

Eames smiled. “Tonight then,” he said.

.

The ritual was simple and ancient. Modern day magicals would label it Dark and condemn anyone who used it, but they were a silly lot, anyway.

“Do you want to be my son?” Eames asked the boy. 

“Yes,” Edmund answered. 

“Do you want to be my son?” Arthur asked the boy.

“Yes,” Edmund answered.

“Then our son you are,” Eames said, and so it was done.

Every picture taken of Edmund Colmes, from the moment Arthur had pulled that trigger on, Edmund Colmes had his dad’s blue-gray eyes and his da’s dark brown hair. The magic that had swept through him changed what it needed to in order to fulfill the wishes of the three supplicants – the tiny part of another’s soul lodged within his burned in primeval fire, and the abilities it had carried melded into the boy’s own magical core. 

Edmund Colmes did not have a scar on his forehead. 

When his parents asked, “Are you happy?” Edmund Colmes nodded energetically, a large smile on his face.

.

In an old castle in Scotland, a single alarm chimed once. No one was present to hear it.

It never chimed again.

…  
...

Ever since the Fischer job, Eames wasn’t Dominick Cobb’s biggest fan. Arthur’s devotion to him had also lessened, in that he finally acknowledged what Eames had long known: Cobb was downright mad, and didn’t use his common sense when he should. 

But Eames had to admit that, when it came to finding trustworthy counselors for children, at least, Cobb could be right. Cobb’s children had been scarred by what their mother did and Miss Allison was just the cheery sort a child could confide in. Phillipa loved the woman, and James trusted her, and after Eames and Arthur interviewed her, they agreed that she could have a trial visit with Edmund. She was as far from Dursley as a person could get and still be the same species. 

Besides, should she misstep, erasing her memories would be simple. 

.

The first session, of course, included Arthur and Eames. Edmund sat between them, one of his hands clutching Arthur’s shirt and the other balled into a fist, pressed against his belly. 

“Hello, Edmund,” she said. “I’m Miss Allison. I’d like to help you, if I can.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random snippets.

_Da,_ Eddie texted during History of Magic, horrified, _they're teaching history *wrong*. It's awful!_ He glared up at the professor, a ghost named Binns, and waited for Da's reply. 

…

 _Eddie_ , Chakra hissed while Eddie was flipping through his potions’ notes, _I’ve found someone you should meet._

The rest of the common room had looked up the minute they heard hissing and were staring at the petite snake curled around Eddie Colmes’ hand. 

_Alright_ , Eddie hissed, closing his book and sending it to his bed with a thought. _Where is this someone?_

Stares followed him out the room and a dozen Slytherins looked at each other in askance. 

Just who was Eddie Colmes? 

…

“My name,” he said calmly, “is Edmund Colmes. My parents are Arthur and Eames Colmes. Harry Potter died a long time ago.” 

…

“He is not your sacrificial lamb, your savior, or your pawn,” the man said quietly. “He is my son.” He stood calmly in the eye of a storm of magic and he looked at Dumbledore with no emotion at all on his face. “This is your first, last, and only warning. My son is out of your reach.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the timeline I worked out.

1977: Eames born

1981: Arthur born 

2004: Arthur&Eames meet during Project Morpheus

2005: Arthur goes rogue; Eames vanishes; Harry Potter born 

2006: Harry Potter given to Dursleys 

2007: Eames saves Arthur's life with magic; reveals true identity about being reincarnated Merlin 

2009: Arthur&Eames marry June 17 (in both muggle and magical worlds)

2010: Arthur&Eames permanently team up after Inception 

2013: Arthur begins investigating Grunnings Drills in November (Harry 7)

2014: Arthur rescues Harry (doesn’t know his name), kills Vernon Dursley, Harry given name _Edmund_ (February); Eames breaks Sirius Black out of Azkaban by faking his death (May); Arthur &Eames magically adopt Eddie (November)

2016: Eddie’s first year at Hogwarts


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes I made about the fic. 
> 
> Also, is it just me being American, but does the schedule for Hogwarts' classes strike anyone else as downright odd?

Note: Harry Potter’s timeline has been moved up to mesh with Inception. Also, I’ve decided that Arthur and Eames are the same ages as their actors. 

Summary: It’s Harry Potter’s first year at Hogwarts – but there is no Boy Who Lived to be found. There is, however, a no-name American halfblood in Slytherin House. 

…

Things that don’t change:

Edmund Colmes, son of Arthur and Eames  
Eddie doesn’t remember being Harry Potter  
Eames knows who Eddie was before Arthur saved him  
Eddie has blueish eyes and short, shaggy brown hair, he's well-fed and sleek, and no scar on his forehead.  
Eames is Merlin reincarnated; didn’t attend Hogwarts and knows who he was  
Harry Potter was abused by multiple men because of Vernon Dursley  
Eddie is sorted into Slytherin  
Eddie calls Arthur ‘Da’ ; Eddie calls Eames ‘Dad’  
Arthur and Eames adjust technology for Hogwarts  
Arthur and Eames are still criminals   
The Slytherins don’t recognize ‘Colmes’ ; impressed by Arthur&Eames because of Eddie’s stories  
Draco eventually becomes Eddie’s lover  
Somehow everyone learns Eddie’s birth name 

Things that change:

Arthur might be a wizard (Grindlewald, American)  
Arthur might be a muggle (King Arthur?)  
All of Harry Potter canon   
Voldemort’s ultimate fate (killed by muggle means? dropped into limbo?)

…

Eddie’s yearmates:

Gryffindor: (9)  
Brown, Lavender  
Dunbar, Faye  
Finnegan, Seamus  
Granger, Hermione  
Longbottom, Neville  
Patil, Parvati  
Smythe, Kellah  
Thomas, Dean  
Weasley, Ron  
Ravenclaw: (10)  
Boot, Terry  
Brockelhurst, Mandy  
Corner, Michael  
Cornfoot, Stephen  
Entwhistle, Kevin  
Goldstein, Anthony  
Li, Su  
MacDougal, Morag  
Patil, Padma  
Turpin, Lisa  
Hufflepuff: (9)  
Abbot, Hannah  
Applebee, Tamsin  
Bones, Susan  
Finch-Fletchley, Justin  
Gunger, Heather  
Hopkins, Wade  
Jones, Megan  
Macmillan, Ernie  
Moon, Leanne  
Perks, Sally-Anne  
Slytherin: (11)  
Bulstrode, Millicent (full blood)  
Crabbe, Vincent (full blood)  
Colmes, Eddie (half-blood)  
Davis, Tracey (half-blood) muggle father  
Goyle, Gregory (full blood)  
Greengrass, Daphne (full blood)  
MacDougal, Isobel (half-blood) muggle mother  
Malfoy, Draco (full blood)  
Nott, Theodore (full blood)  
Parkinson, Pansy (full blood)  
Zabini, Blaise (half-blood)

…

Eddie's magical snake finds the basilisk during 1st year and Harry befriends her 

figure out how he got his Hogwarts' letter, wand, supplies 

Eddie calls his da after discovering Fluffy. 

…

M: Potions, DADA  
T: Charms, History of Magic  
W Potions, Herbology, Flying, Astronomy (at midnight, WTF?)  
R: Charms, Transfiguration  
F: Potions (x2)


End file.
